The Blood, The Wine, The Roses
by MomusOfLegend619
Summary: My first fic, so tell me what you think. I'm also looking for prompts, so suggestions are appreciated. Enjoy :)


**Hey guys, this is my first fic, let me know what you think and whether I should write a sequel.**

 **Love from, DeeDee xx**

 **Disclaimers: I don't own Sherlock :(**

Chapter 1

221B Baker street was fully lit at 3:30 in the morning. Frantic violin playing could be heard from within, as if the player was frustrated. Sherlock Holmes was stood staring at a large collection of papers, photographs, blueprints and maps, trying to figure out Moriarty's next move. He soon abandoned the violin and threw it onto the sofa. He reached into his jacket pocket and and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, much to the annoyance of the occupant of the armchair nearest the kitchen. John Watson was also awake, but instead of furiously playing the violin, he was writing the blog entry of his latest adventure. Sherlock lit a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. He blew the smoke out of his mouth and scanned the map for possible patterns, clues, anything that could lead them to Moriarty, or at least one of his employees.

"Have you considered asking Lestrade for help?" Watson interrupted Sherlock's train of thought.

"What good would that do? He can't really tell us anything we don't already know. Its this damn note. I hate riddles" Sherlock hated not being able to figure things out. He was always certain, but there wasn't enough information to go by. After Sherlock had been released form exile, he came back to find a note on the pillow of his bed. It read:

 _knowledge is power_

 _green with envy_

 _7 3 8:30_

"I suppose your right." John sighed.

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right. But I can't Get It RIGHT!" Sherlock shouted, pounding his fist on the wall of papers.

"Well, I'm going to go and see if I can get hold of some eggs for breakfast. Do you need anything?" John was already pulling on his jacket.

"Cigarettes. And nicotine patches." Was the curt response he got.

He strolled down the stairs and out the front door, pleased to be away from the tense atmosphere of the flat. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He dialled a number and waited for the phone to start calling. Making sure he was out of earshot in case Sherlock stood by the window to play violin again. The call rang twice before being inevitably picked up.

"What has he done this time?" Mycroft's voice was clear despite the early hour, and he seemed alert, like he'd been awake anyway.

"Nothing yet Myc, but he's smoked a whole packet and a half of cigarettes in the past three hours, so things are getting a bit tense"

"I'm guessing this is about Moriarty. Well, how can I help?"

"You don't happen to know anyone that has pretty much the same brain power as Sherlock, do you?" he was joking.

"Well, interestingly, something has indeed come up."

"What?"

"I know this sounds unlikely, but it would be easier to show you. Shall I send a car for you in about ten minutes?"

"That's fine. Sherlock's not going anywhere soon." John replied, curious about this possible Sherlock twin.

"Don't bring him, he would never take me seriously. See you soon."

Mycroft hung up, and John got into the car ten minutes later and was driven to the Diogenes Club.

"Ah, John, how are you?" Mycroft looked as he usually did, perfect three-piece suit, pleasant but always business-like facial expression.

"Fine thanks Myc. What was it you wanted to show me?" John was eager to meet possibly the only person in the world able to beat Sherlock in a game of chess. Mycroft led him through to a part of the building he had never been to before, all pale blue corridors and occasional flower vases. They stopped at a door, and Mycroft knocked lightly. The 'come in' that soon followed was distinctly female, to John's surprise. Mycroft pushed the door open, and John was presented with the second genius he'd ever meet. He stopped cold.

The prodigy was in fact a thirteen year old girl, who was doing something with a Petri dish of sand and an unidentifiable purple liquid. She didn't acknowledge there arrival, and carried on placing drops of the chemical in the Petri dish with a pipette.

"John, this is Rosalind. She's been living on her own in her family's inherited house for almost five years, but we found her last month and brought her in after she demonstrated her intelligence to us." She flinched at the sound of her name.

John was shocked that this child had the same brain power as Sherlock.

"Are you sure?" He questioned Mycroft. The impossibility of it all was absurd.

Rosalind looked up at John. He was startled by her appearance. She was as pale as Sherlock, with black hair and she was fairly pretty. But the big difference was her eyes. They were a startling green. She looked him up and down, then smiled. But here face looked familiar in a way she couldn't understand.

"Your an ex soldier,judging by the way you stand. Married and expecting a baby. You haven't stayed with her for a while though, because your clothes are creased and a bit dirty, with a coffee stain on the right pocket of your shirt. Your a doctor, steady hand and a tenancy to assess the people around you. I can tell you've lost a lot of sleep at one point, suggesting you either lost someone dear to you or you went though a traumatic experience, possibly both. You have a handgun tucked in the waist of your trousers. Its very nice to meet you Doctor Watson."

John was speechless for many seconds, before turning to Mycroft.

"Did you tell her those things?". Mycroft just shook his head, looking equally amazed.

"And you think she can help Sherlock?".

Mycroft frowned slightly. "I hope so. She doesn't really like being cramped in here. Its boring"

He turned to Rosalind, who had somehow managed to make the sand stick together in a solid lump. She threw the lump to the floor, it bounced and landed back in her outstretched hand. She seemed disappointed. She turned to Mycroft.

"Not very good resources. Can I have a Bunsen burner now?" Mycroft smiled at her.

"If you want to, you could go with John to meet Sherlock Holmes, my brother. He's in a slight predicament, and you seem to be the only one who can help him."

She sat quietly, considering the offer. True, this place bored the mind out of her, and it would be an opportunity to escape. But she knew nothing about Mycroft's brother, except what he told her. It could be dangerous.

"Okay" She got up and walked over to her closet, and pulled out a suitcase. Mycroft took it off her.

"We'll have your clothes sent over, along with your lab stuff, okay?" She went over to pull on a coat and strode purposefully from the room, and through the corridor. Mycroft and John raised there eyebrows at each other and walked after her.

She was already sat in the car when they got out the front door. She wound down the window to talk to Mycroft.

"Thank you Mycroft. For helping me"

Mycroft smiled fondly at her, and the car pulled away. She wound up the window but kept her eyes glued to the outside world. John decided to break the silence.

"So, you lived in a house on your own for five years?"

She turned to him. "Yes"

"How did you survive?"

"I taught myself basic skills, but spent most of it in my lab"

"You have a lab?" This girls story was sounding more and more like Sherlock.

"Yes. I had just perfected indestructible glass, that needs a diamond to cut through it. That reminds me, I must ask Mycroft to send that formulae to me." She seemed lost in thought for about two minutes. "It had a library right next door. I have a library in my mind too. That's where I keep all my knowledge, my memories and such." She smiled pleasantly at him, then took a phone out of her pocket and started texting someone. This could not be coincidence. This child was literally the thirteen year old girl version of Sherlock.

They pulled up at Baker Street, and John got out, closely followed by Rosalind. She took in the houses dotted along the street, and something made her smile. John walked over to the door and unlocked it, and held it open for Rosalind. He shut the door behind him and started the ascent up to the flat. Rosalind followed, taking in the fingermarks and paint scratches in the walls. This place certainly has been well lived in. They got to the door to the flat. John hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle. What would Sherlock's response be? He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Together, he and Rosalind stepped into the flat just as Sherlock entered from the kitchen.

Chapter 2

"Ah, John, I was wondering..." he trailed off as he noticed their new guest. He fixed her with a stare so penetrating a snake would have flinched. But she didn't flinch. She fixed him with an equally appraising stare, and John could tell they were deducing each other.

"Sherlock, this is Rosalind. Rosalind, this is Sherlock"

Sherlock ran his eyes over her. "Thirteen, an orphan, living by herself for about four years until recently. Right handed. Your smart. But other than that there's not much to tell. You don't miss your parents. In fact, you were better off without them."

She raised her eyebrow in apparent admittance that Sherlock was right. Then she smiled. "My turn. Your extremely intelligent, and rather fond of yourself, probably why your mind palace is a palace. You wear that suit a lot judging by some subtle signs of wear. You don't eat or sleep much. You had an okay childhood, but you were and still are shunned for your deduction skills. You play the violin, and are rather skilled at it, as a result your fingers move often to keep them in practice. You have a great fondness for Dr. Watson judging by the way you look at him. You don't do people, judging by the rather eventful way we greeted each other. Many find you ways disturbing or annoying, so many call you a psychopath. The fact that you've killed before backs that up slightly, as do the various body parts in your kitchen, judging by the smell. Now I believe we have a real psychopath to catch, so excuse me Mr Holmes" She walked over to the wall covered in paper and started studying it, plunging into thoughtful silence.

Sherlock turned to John.

"A word, please?" he gestured to the kitchen/laboratory and John followed him through. Sherlock turned to him.

"Can you please explain to me why and how there is a thirteen year old girl, who seems to know so much about me, standing in our living room reading my notes?" He sounded exasperated. John smiled.

"She was found on the outskirts of London, by herself, making bulletproof glass out of household materials in a lab in her bedroom. She's amazingly similar to you, she even has a mind palace, except its a library instead."

Sherlock is not very often rendered speechless, so this was obviously a shock. He frowned.

"It was Mycroft, wasn't it. He sent her to help."

"He also sent her for her sake, you know, but yes, he thought having another genius would help a bit with Moriarty"

Sherlock closed his eyes, considering his next words.

"She's a child. Surely this isn't safe for her. I mean, this is Moriarty"

John thought about this.

"She was given the choice of coming here. If she works like you do, I'm sure she's aware of the danger she could put herself in. She's clearly not stupid"

Sherlock walked back into the living room to find Rosalind drawing vigorously. He couldn't see what she was drawing, and thought it insignificant. He sat in his chair and watched the girl as she closed her eyes for a minute. Then she went back to drawing, only this time more carefully. Finally, Sherlock's curiosity won over.

"What are you drawing?"

She looked up at him for a minute. "Map" she pronounced, then she went back to her drawing. Sherlock frowned. A map of what? Rosalind got up suddenly, studying what she had drawn and the wall. She then sat down again, this time drawing red lines on it.

"Are you even a tiny bit worried about Moriarty?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She smiled knowingly, not looking up.

John called from the kitchen "Does anyone want tea?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Rosalind, do you want tea? Or something else?"

"No thanks" She called, shuddering again at her name. "And call me Rose" she added.

Sherlock got up and studied the maps on the wall, deciding now was the time for work. He had been thinking for 7 minutes exactly when Rose asked him "Do you have a map of Greenwich?"

He looked over at her. "What for?"

"Don't make me talk, just give me one!" she said quickly. Sherlock, taken aback by her urgent tone, handed her a map of Greenwich. She then started adding lines to the map. After a while, John interrupted the work.

"I think we should get some rest now. Rose, will you be okay on the sofa?" She nodded quickly, only half listening. Sherlock reluctantly went to his room, and John to his, and Rose lay down under a blanket on the sofa. She waited until both men were in their rooms, and she threw the blanket off . She sat back in her spot on the carpet . She studied the map she had drawn, and then the note pinned onto the wall among the papers. She pulled it off and examined it.

 _Knowledge is power_

 _green with envy_

 _7 3 8:30_

She then looked at her map again, checking something. She closed her eyes and went to her library. She picked up a volume on Greenwich, and read a chapter, recognition lighting her eyes. She opened her eyes, back to the flat and and studied the map. Yes, yes, the lines all fit. Sherlock was on the right track, definitely, but he'd over-thought it. _Green with envy_ could mean Greenwich, _Knowledge is power_ suggesting somewhere with knowledge, like a library, or a school. Or perhaps a University. She grinned and ran over to the hallway. She stopped. It was obvious whatever Moriarty was planning, he was doing on the 7th of march, at eight-thirty. If he told Sherlock that, he was inviting him to the location. But he wasn't going to let Sherlock stop him, no, he was to theatrical for that.

She wandered back over to the maps. There was a precise road route to Greenwich from Baker Street, so getting there would be easy. Or would it? There are approximately 23 traffic lights along the way. It would be easy for him to rig the traffic lights, to delay the journey enough that they wouldn't get there on time. But why? She thought about that for exactly 53 seconds before it hit her. Because its Sherlock. He would give him the victory of figuring it out, give him that vital chance of preventing it and then making him just late enough to allow him to witness, to swipe victory from him when he was so close...because it's Sherlock. That would crush him. Being so near, yet so far. She smiled. She liked Moriarty's style.

The firs person to wake that morning was Sherlock, of course. Rose was sat in his chair, facing him, when he walked into the kitchen. She couldn't hold back the knowing smile as he noticed her sat in _his_ chair. He frowned at her expression.

"What?" he asked, suspicious. She better not have touched the science equipment around him.

"Wake John up. I've solved it."

"Solved it? What do you mean you've solved it?"

"Look, I'll explain when Johns up, I hate repeating myself"

She got up and walked over to the maps, re-checking her work. Everything was right. Soon Sherlock emerged with John, looking groggy, close behind him.

"Sherlock said you've got it?" he murmured. "Well, first, coffee"

Half an hour later, Rose had explained entirely her theory. Sherlock's eyes lit up slowly over the course of her explanation, and he had to admit it was pretty impressive. But he was also a bit annoyed that a 13 year old got it before him. John got up to phone Mycroft and Lestrade, but Sherlock and Rose stayed seated. Sherlock decided that she wasn't all that bad. He may even owe her. Held his hand out to her.

"I believe we haven't been introduced. Sherlock Holmes. You must be Rosalind."

She grimaced at her full name, smiled and took the hand "Call me Rose, or Rosie, or anything, just not Rosalind."

He smiled back. He then went to the kitchen, where John was making tea.

"Okay, I admit it, she's not that bad." He said begrudgingly. John smirked at him, handed him a cup and took his own to his chair. Sherlock sat in his chair. Rose sat in her spot in the corner. She was suddenly deep in thought. At that moment, there was a knock at the door. An elderly lady walked in carrying a large cake on a tray. He walked straight into the kitchen, not noticing Rose sat in the corner, concealed by the desk.

"I brought you a cake to have with your tea, dears." She walked into the living room with a slight dusting if flour on her cheeks. She stood by the front door and noticed Rose sat with her eyes closed in the corner.

"Who's that in the corner?" she whispered, thinking she was asleep.

"That's Rosalind, she's staying with us for a while, helping with the case"He spoke at a moderate volume, and Mrs Hudson shushed him.

"Rose" Sherlock said.

"What?"

"She doesn't like being called Rosalind. Before you ask, I don't know why". Mrs Hudson got up and left quietly. Sherlock got up and went over to the kitchen to sample the cake.

"Don't eat the cake" Rose called from the corner, her eyes still closed.

"Why not?" Sherlock had cut a slice, and had just laid it on a plate.

"She used the flour she mixed bicarbonate of soda with, so the excessive bicarbonate of soda will make you sick for approximately seven hours. I saw the flour on her cheeks was too white to be self-raising, and any other flour and the cake would be flat."

Sherlock considered this for a moment.

" But what if she baked other things, she could still have them downstairs"

Rose didn't open her eyes. "Sherlock, she's a single and very generous woman who clearly doesn't indulge too much, so she would have given you some of that as well as the cake, which, by the way, you shouldn't eat."

Sherlock knew that once again she was right. John watched Sherlock over his newspaper, to see his reaction. He put the slice back, put the dish in the sink and went into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Do you think I offended him? Rose had opened her eyes, and they were full of worry as she waited for an answer.

"I doubt it. He's probably just overwhelmed that he's not alone in the genius department. This is just his way of dealing with things like this"

Rose sat staring at the walls for a while. Then she got up and walked over to the front door.

"I'm guessing by the doorbell in the fridge that it doesn't work" She said. John nodded at her. She opened the door and went downstairs to the other front door. Ten seconds later, the car containing her clothes and lab kit parked outside. She opened the door and went back upstairs to tell John they had arrived. She went back downstairs and was met by Mrs Hudson, the elderly lady. She smiled when she saw Rose, but frowned when she saw the multitude of furniture being unloaded from the van outside.

"I have a spare room in the attic, if you want it. You'd have a bit of trouble getting it up there though." She was very caring , thought Rose, considering her background with drugs. They eventually got it all up there, plus a large, wrapped gift from Mycroft. It really was huge, and extremely heavy, so much so it weighed more than her bed. It was about the size of a sofa. She tore off the wrapping paper and opened the side of the box. She couldn't believe what she saw.

Inside was an x-ray machine, a whole new set of beakers, bottles and other glass utensils, some metal utensils and some technology only available in Government lab facilities. She set it all up herself, and then text Mycroft.

Thanks for the tech Mycroft

We found out Moriarty's next move

I expect we'll be seeing you soon

-R.H

He text back almost immediately.

I'm glad you like it, but remember

to use it wisely. No doubt we'll be

over to asses your theory.

-M

Rose smiled. She missed Mycroft a bit, but he was well reflected in his younger brother. They were both smart-asses. She grinned an went out to find something to dissect. She came back with an antique clock found at a dump a mile east if the flat. She took it apart, and soon began assessing what metals were used, what was wrong with it, and by the end of an hour, she discovered it had been mistreated and never dusted by a 45-50 year old man who was single and had a bad dandruff problem. She put the clock back, and after winding it up, it worked just fine. She smiled, pleased as the clock started ticking gently. She walked out of her room and downstairs.

The first thing she noticed was the broken lock on the door. It had been forced into, by a foot, size 7 male. She slowly pushed the door open just enough to see inside. There was only one man inside, and he was downloading something from Sherlock's laptop. He was nervous, so clearly unskilled at this. It would take at least another three minutes to download, which gave Rose plenty of time to think of a plan. She pushed the door open and then hid to the side of the door. The man stood up and walked to the doorway. Rose stuck out her right hand and pushed the syringe of tranquillizer into the back of his neck that she had made her self thirty second ago. The thief fell to the ground, and she dragged him (with much difficulty) into the flat and onto a chair. She tied him up with the duct tape in John's desk drawer. He wouldn't wake up for at least five hours, and Sherlock and John were on a case, so they would be back in two hours exactly. She decided to make dinner.

When Sherlock and John walked into the flat, the first thing they noticed was the smell of pie baking.

"Rose, are you in there?" John called.

"Someone broke in John" Sherlock said, taking in the broken lock.

"Rose, did someone break in? Did you see who?"

They walked into the kitchen to find Rose setting a pie on the table and a man tied to one of their dining chairs.

"He broke in and tried to steal info off of Sherlock's laptop, so I made a tranquillizer and now here we are. Are you hungry? His name is Henry Grydon, by the way." She casually got three plates out of the cupboard whilst the two men stood stunned for a minute. Sherlock snapped out of it first, and walked over to the syringe on the table to examine the liquid inside. John was slower.

"You took this man down by yourself?" he asked again over his pie. She had finished hers and so had Sherlock, and they were quietly waiting for the man to wake up. John was still amazed that a thirteen year old girl could take down a man that size with just one syringe.

"How long did it take you to make the tranquillizer?" Sherlock broke John's train of thought. He was again looking at the syringe.

"With the new technology in my room, about 47 seconds. God I love science." The man stirred, the effects wearing off. He opened his eyes and took in his situation. Rose got up. He spoke.

"He'll still get you, you know. Moriarty. He's better than this and you know it."

Rose turned to John. "I don't do interrogations. This one's yours." She walked over to the door.

"He knows about your father, Rosalind. Of course he does. Your secret won't be safe forever." He called to her.

She stopped cold in the centre of the room.

"What did you say about my father? Hmm?"

She strode over to him and before John could stop her, she had picked up his gun and hit the thief across his head, immediately knock in him out. She then dropped the gun and strode out the door and upstairs into her room.

Sherlock and John watched her go with mixed levels of concern and curiosity.

"Shall I go after her, Sherlock, or do you want to?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head. John walked upstairs and knocked on Rose's door.

"Come in"

He opened the door and she had a piece of paper in her hand, and it was well shielded from view. She folded it up when she realised who it was.

"Rose, are you alright? What was that about your father?"

Rose smiled. "I can't tell you that, John. Well I could, but then I would have to kill you with one of the poisons scattered around the room. Anyway, its not your burden to bear." She was obviously upset.

"Can I ask why you can't tell me?"

She considered this for a moment.

"Because it would stain your opinion of me. Badly. I can't be looked at strangely anymore." She got up and placed the paper in the safe next to her x-ray machine.

"Anyway, I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. But I... I don't think... You would hate me. Just, do me a favour and don't ask again, please?" Rose smiled wanly at him and went downstairs.

Chapter 3

All three of them were at the police station writing a statement about the thief. Lestrade was writing it down.

"And who incapacitated him?" He asked

"Rose" Sherlock and John said at once. Lestrade gave them a look which suggested he didn't quite believe them. Rose was sat in a corner staring at Lestrade. He was basic, and she figured out about his wife's affair in 6 seconds. They walked out an hour later, bored and hungry. They bought fish and chips and went back to the flat.

"Oh, I have to text Mycroft. I need it back."

"Need what back?"

But Rose didn't answer. She texted Mycroft and eventually a car pulled up and she ran out to retrieve the thing it was delivering. She ran upstairs with it, and Sherlock watched her go. He then picked up his violin and started playing Pachbel's Canon. This was soon accompanied by a distant cello. Sherlock stopped, and the cello stopped too. He started playing again, and two notes later the cello joined in again. They played through the entire song. Then he stopped, put down his violin and went upstairs to confront her.

She was sat on her bed with a large cello beside her, grinning widely as Sherlock entered.

"So your musical?" he asked. She smiled and put the cello back in its case, and put the case to the back of the room. She then went back over to her microscope and plunged into silence.

"What are you looking at?" he walked over, slightly jealous of her Government-grade equipment.

"Cancer cells."

Sherlock said nothing. He had noticed the safe at the side of the x-ray machine. He could get into it, easily, but she'd probably rigged it with something.

"Try and get in that safe and if it doesn't kill you, I will." Rose said, not looking up from the microscope.

Sherlock considered this for a minute before speaking again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"One question. Also depends on the question."

Sherlock thought about this question.

"Why don't you like to be called Rosalind?"

Rose smiled. She didn't think he would ask that.

"I suppose that's a valid question. It's because that's the name my mother gave me."

Sherlock looked at her questioningly. She smiled.

"You said it yourself, one question." She smiled and walked over to the other side of the room to get a beaker. Sherlock walked out, shutting the door behind him. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't tell who. John had left to be with his wife for a few days, although he hated her for shooting Sherlock. Once the baby was born, it would be with them on weekends. Rose had never actually held a child before, and didn't really have any intentions on doing so. She had a nagging worry that Sherlock would figure out who her father was, and hate her for it. She decided to go out to the shops.

After Rose had left, Sherlock crept up to her room and over to the safe. He could see the combination, it was just too easy. But she said she had rigged it, he could tell. He looked closely at it. It looked perfectly fine. He decided the best way to find out was to open it, so he typed the combination and it swung open. Nothing happened. She had been bluffing. Sherlock smiled. He examined the contents of the safe. One sheet of paper. He picked it up very carefully with gloved hands, and unfolded it. On it was a DNA test, more specifically Rose's. It read:

DNA test for

Miss Rosalind Barnes

Mother: Linda Barnes

Father: Jim Moriarty

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be right. But the evidence was there. She had the same pale skin, attitude, and even (almost unnoticeable) the accent. He placed the paper exactly where it was before and closed the safe, rushing out of the room. He had to tell John.

Rose was examining the E-numbers on a packet of toffees when she received a text. It was an unknown number.

Hello daughter dear

-M

Rose's stomach dropped. She had been expecting this, especially now she was working with Sherlock. But it was still scary.

Hello Moriarty. What is it? Why the sudden appearance

-R

She almost didn't want to know.

Just checking in. What say we have a little reunion?

-M

Why, so you can kill me?

Or keep me in some cell for the rest of my life?

-R

Oh dear me no

You could bring your friends

Shall we say, Greenwich University?

I'm sure it will be explosive :)

-M

Rose smiled. So she was right about Greenwich. But she could put them in danger by bringing them along. She would have to go alone, somehow keep them in the flat long enough for her to get to far away, so they couldn't catch her. This would be dangerous.

John returned to find Sherlock deep in thought, but not in the usual way.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Sherlock closed his eyes.

"That piece of paper in her safe, I read it, its a DNA test."

"Yeah, so?"

Sherlock had what looked a little bit like fear in his eyes.

"Her father. I knew she reminded me of someone. God we were so blind."

"Sherlock, who's her father?"

Sherlock looked John in the eyes, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Her father is Moriarty."

Rose returned later to find a blueprint of Greenwich University. She walked into the flat to find the two men sat in their chairs, waiting for her.

"Guys...what's wrong?"

John shifted to face her.

"So, when were you going to tell us then?" John asked pointedly.

Rose frowned in confusion.

"About Moriarty?"

Rose immediately felt sick. He had got into the safe.

"Mor...iarty." she choked out.

"Yes. Something about him being your _biological father_!"

Rose closed her eyes, and tried to think of a way to explain. Then it hit her.

"I told you you'd hate me if I told you. I mean what was I supposed to say, 'hi, I'll help you catch Moriarty, by the way, he's my DAD!"

She was ranting now, all the anger and judgement from people that she had kept silent about for all these years flowing freely now.

"I don't LIKE having Moriarty as a father, I mean, he's a psychopath! And for the first time, I've met two people who don't look at me like a freak because of who I am, but Moriarty's always ruining it for me, some way or another. I didn't ask for him to be my father, I didn't ask to be abandoned in that house by my mother, I didn't ask for any of this, yet here I am. I don't care what you think of me now, I just want to stop what he's planning, which, by the way, is blowing up Greenwich University, and I don't want the fact that half my blood is his to CHANGE ANYTHING!"

She stormed upstairs to her room, and for the first time in her life.

She started to cry.

John and Sherlock sat in the living room, and the silence was heavy.

"So what do we do?" John asked. Sherlock said nothing for a while.

"Were going to call Mycroft"

He got up and walked over to the phone. It rang twice before being picked up.

"Sherlock, what is it?" Mycroft was clearly busy.

"Really? Moriarty's DAUGHTER!"

"Sherlock, calm down. She's nothing like Moriarty."

"Really? How come she knows more about Moriarty's patterns than I do?"

"It's obviously going to have some affect on her. But she's still the same person as before. Give her a chance."

He hung up, leaving Sherlock to contemplate what he'd just said.

Rose turned off her laptop. She had tapped into the conversation and heard everything. She had made a decision. She was going after Moriarty on her own. She took out her phone.

I'm coming, I'll be there

in about 2 hours.

-R

She took a deep breath and sent the message.

Can't wait to meet you

I'm sure we'll get along

I changed my mind, come alone

-M

Rose got up and grabbed a crowbar from the corner which was here before her. It was rusty but solid, it would work. She hurriedly wrote a letter to Sherlock and John, and walked out to carry out her plan.

She crept down the stairs and stopped at the door, listening. She could hear them talking about her and Moriarty, and about how she may have contact with him. She sighed and rammed the crowbar into the bottom of the door, preventing it from opening. They heard the bang of the door jamming, and ran over to it. Before Rose left, she pushed the letter through the bottom and called "I'm sorry", then she walked away. She called a taxi and was soon on her way to Greenwich to meet her father.

Sherlock watched John repeatedly bang on the door to the flat.

"It's no use John. If she's like me, she would have thought about this. What did the letter say?"

John handed him the letter. He unfolded it and read it carefully.

 _To John and Sherlock_

 _I've gone to face him, to see if I can't talk him out of the attack. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him, but the thought of being related to him, well it scares me. And I never get scared. Good luck with the baby, and I hope that you carry on as before._

 _Rose Moriarty_

 _P.S_

 _Sherlock, I know you'll eventually open the door and come after me. If I don't make it, you can have my Lab stuff._

Sherlock knew what this was.

"John, she's not trying to keep us in here very hard. She's giving us the option of following her."

John looked at him, out of breath.

"That's great, Sherlock, apart from the fact that we still can't get out."

Sherlock reached under the door and pushed the crowbar. It gave way immediately, and they ran down the stairs and out to a taxi. Sherlock's phone buzzed.

Don't take the main way there

He's rigged the traffic lights

Take the long route, you have more time than you think

You still shouldn't come

-R

Sherlock showed it to John, and he told the cab driver the way.

Rose was on the way to Greenwich when her phone rang. Another unknown number. She picked up.

"Could you not have waited until I was there"

"But dear, I've sent a car to pick you up. Stop the cab your in, the car is right behind you."

Moriarty hung up and Rose stopped the cab. A sleek black car pulled up beside her, and she got in the back seat.

Sherlock and John were starting to panic. They hadn't heard from Rose for a long time, even though she was his daughter, they knew what Moriarty was capable of.

Rose arrived at Greenwich University an hour later. She was led to a room by a bodyguard, and told to wait. She found three potential sniper spots, and found eight hiding spots. A door to the left opened, and in stepped the suited figure of Jim Moriarty.

"Hello Rosalind."

"Moriarty. And please call me Rose, I hate that name."

"But its the name your mother gave you."

Rose grimaced. "Exactly"

Moriarty walked over to her and examined her face.

"Mmmm, I can see your mother in there somewhere. A bit of me, too"

Rose smiled. But there was an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

"Are Sherlock and John following you?"

"Well, after barring their door and telling them their arch-enemy was my father, I honestly don't know."

"Interesting. Well, I suppose we'll find out."

He gestured to a table and chairs in the centre of the room. They sat and started talking. But Rose could see in his eyes he was waiting for Sherlock.

Sherlock and John arrived ten minutes later, and ran into the building. They took out the guards at the door, and burst in. They'd expected to find her with a gun to her head, not casually talking to him. They froze for a minute, and the two Moriartys looked over to them. Rose's face was burning with shame, but Moriarty's eyes were bright.

"Hellllooooo boys, very nice to see you. I almost thought you weren't coming. As you can see, my daughter and I have been catching up, but I'm equally interested in what you two have been up to."

Sherlock and John stayed silent. Rose watched the events with caution. He was planning something. But she didn't know what.

"What are you here for, Moriarty? Why not stay dead?"

Moriarty smiled.

"You know exactly what I want, Sherlock. The thing my thief failed in getting. Can someone explain to me why that is, I mean, you were out."

Sherlock remained silent, but John's eyes flickered to Rose for just a second. Of course Moriarty noticed.

"So, it was my own daughter who foiled my plan. Interesting. Oh well. I suppose you brought the drive with you?"

Sherlock put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a USB stick. It was the one constantly sat on his desk. He held it up.

"I'm not giving it to you until you guarantee we walk out of here alive."

Moriarty made a face. "Sorry, I can't do that."

"Well, then you don't get the hard drive." Sherlock countered.

Moriarty smiled, and it was almost a maddened smile.

"Allow me to provide some incentive."

He pulled out a silenced handgun and placed it on the side of Roses head. Her face went considerably pale, but otherwise she didn't react. Sherlock and John froze.

"Moriarty, she's your daughter!" John exclaimed.

"The memory stick!"

Sherlock didn't react. He was watching Rose. She was clearly thinking.

She opened her eyes and mouthed to Sherlock 'Don't'

"Mum wouldn't want you to do this."

Moriarty stopped cold at Rose's words. He went pale.

"She would want us to get along. Not have you putting a gun to my head."

Moriarty was going a soft shade of pink.

Sherlock decided to speak.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

Moriarty turned to Sherlock, almost forgetting Rose.

"SHUT UP ABOUT HER! YOU DIDN'T KNOW HER. YOU DIDN'T..." He was interrupted by Rose. She kicked his knee out from under him, grabbed the gun from his hand and put it to his head in four seconds flat. Moriarty raised his hands, a maddened grin spread across his face. Rose had a look of complete calm on her face, but something was burning underneath.

"You're going to stay away from me. Stay away or next time I will use this, like you used this gun on Mum. Just stay away." She drew back her gun and slammed him in the back of the head, knocking him out. She then strode purposefully toward the door, past the boys and through the doorway. They followed behind her, saying nothing. She still had the gun in her hand, and was emotionally unstable. They stared straight ahead, but she looked back, back at her father.

There was a man with a pistol at the end of the corridor, and he was aiming at Sherlock. Rose didn't think. She just pushed Sherlock out of the way just as the gunman pulled the trigger. She heard the bang, and felt the bullet rip a hole in her shoulder. She fell to the floor, losing consciousness as the gunman ran away. She heard John tell Sherlock to call an ambulance and press on her shoulder, pain flaring along her arm and on her shoulder so bad she blacked out.

Sherlock was sat next to Rose's bed in St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London, where John worked. He had gone to get some coffee, leaving Sherlock alone with her. Her eyes flickered, and she opened them. Sherlock didn't notice until she spoke.

"God, is this what it feels like to be shot? Remind me to avoid guns"

She managed a smile before groaning. She adjusted the morphine in her drip and tried to sit up.

"You shouldn't do that. You'll start bleeding again." Sherlock advised. Rose sat up anyway, and the wound did not bleed. She surveyed the room with an expression of distaste.

"I suppose I owe you my life then." Sherlock muttered. Rose shrugged with one shoulder.

"Depends how you look at things, Sherlock. Technically, yes, but it probably would have happened to me eventually, considering its Moriarty were talking about. But I'm going to say no."

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.

"First, you accepted me. Then, you follow me to danger, even though I gave you the option of staying at home, where you would be safe. You owe me nothing, Mr Holmes." She had here eyes closed the entire time, but the doctors said she had a high morphine tolerance, so she wouldn't sleep without a dangerous amount of morphine, which would comatose her. She was still awake when John walked in.

"Rose, you're awake!"

Rose smiled wanly, a dim burn in her shoulder preventing many forms of activity or excitement.

"Again, remind me to avoid guns."

John smiled, obviously glad she was okay.

"That gunshot will leave a nasty scar, you know." John was almost amused by this.

"Yeah. When can I go home?"

"Oh, not until next week at least."

Rose considered this for a while.

"Nope, too long"

She got up out of the bed, taking the morphine with her. She ignored the protests from both John and Sherlock, unplugged herself from the drip and walked over to the window. There were balconies below, it was possible. She pushed the window open, batted away the hands that tried to guide her back to the bed, and jumped out the window.

She got back to her room in Baker Street sweating from the pain. She found her supply of morphine she had been using on the cancer cells and injected the gunshot site. She sat on the bed. Images of her putting a gun to someone's head flashed in her mind, and thy scared her. She pushed those images into a locked drawer in the back of her mind library, but the drawer rattled as the images tried to escape. She opened her eyes and got dressed, and she had just got out of her room when the door slamming suggested that John and Sherlock had returned. She steeled herself for the telling off she was bound to get, and walked slowly downstairs, after hooking up to the drip she had brought back from Mycroft's. They were stood in the kitchen waiting for her.

"Hey guys."

They stared at her like she was crazy. She breathed out slowly, both because of the pain and the tense atmosphere.

"You know, when you've been shot and in hospital for only three days, you don't usually jump out of windows." John looked serious, but there was a spark in his eyes. Sherlock was smirking over his microscope. Rose struggled to keep a straight face as she considered the scene she probably caused. She pictured the doctors faces as she jumped out the window, and cracked. She started giggling, wincing as the movement shook her shoulder. She walked out and up the stairs, laughing quietly. She climbed into bed and fell asleep from the build up of morphine.

Rose was stood in her library, reading a book about her time in her mother's house by herself. She came across a chapter she hadn't read in a long time. A name caught her eye.

Aidan

That's a name she hadn't heard in a while. Aidan was the same age as her, and lived on the same street. Minus the house. She had let him stay with her, and he helped get the materials for the experiments, because technically she didn't exist, and couldn't, otherwise Moriarty might have come for her. No-one had known of her mother's pregnancy or Rose until Mycroft had found her, along with her mother's body. Aidan had stayed in her house, hiding from Mycroft and his men. Rose sat. wondering what had become of her first and only best friend.

"Hello, Rosalind"

Her blood turned cold at those words. She turned to see Moriarty holding a gun, and pointing it at her. He fired, and the shot hit her shoulder.

She woke up, and the pain in her shoulder was so bad she cried out. She turned to her drip and turned it up. She felt horrible, but she wasn't going back to hospital. The dream about Aidan shook her hard, and she sighed. She got up and got dressed, and went down to the flat. It was quiet, but Sherlock was awake and sat in his chair with his eyes closed. He seemed to be thinking about something. She sat in her corner and closed her eyes too.

"Why did you take that bullet for me? And why don't you like to be called Rosalind?"

Rose took a deep breath. She should have seen this coming.

"My mother's name was Linda, so that was that part of my name. And the first bunch of flowers Moriarty every gave her was a bunch of...roses."

Rose grimaced. She realized now just how much she hated her name. And roses.

"Why did you take the bullet?" Sherlock's eyes were still closed.

"There are people in your life that need you more than you think, Sherlock Holmes. I was just an orphan they found on the outskirts of London."

Sherlock's silence was thick with questions. He thought of one.

"Who's Aidan?"

Rose stopped breathing. She stood up and faced Sherlock.

"How do you know about Aidan?"

Sherlock was surprised by her tone.

"You said it in your sleep last night. Practically shouted it"

Rose's face went red. "He was my only friend at the London house. He helped me bury my Mum."

Her face had gone from red to white. She sat in her corner and fell silent. Just then, John walked in.

"Hey guys. Take-away for tea? By the way, who's Aiden? Your boyfriend?" John was clearly teasing, but Rose's face went paler still and she ran up to her room as fast as her shoulder would let her.

Sherlock looked at John with a disapproving expression.

"I'm no good with people, but even I know that wasn't a good move."

John looked confused and ashamed.

"What did I say?"

Sherlock sighed. "Aidan was her friend in her old house. He helped her bury her mother after Moriarty shot her."

John looked really guilty now. He walked up to Rose's room to apologize, but she wasn't there.

Rose was walking down the street toward the Diogenes Club. She walked up to the bodyguard at the door and showed her pass that Mycroft had packed in her clothes. He opened the door, and instead of heading to Mycroft's office, she walked the other way to the bodyguards rooms. She checked her watch. In precisely 2 minutes, he would be here. Two minutes later, Henry, her almost personal bodyguard, turned the corner and came face to face with Rose.

"You want me to find this boy?"

Rose nodded, watching for his reaction. He owed her. His daughter, in fact. It was Rose who had enhanced his wife's vitamins, and now he was a happy father. And he owed Rose a favor. And she was cashing it in.

"Okay, I'll find him for you. But don't get your hopes up."

Rose grinned at him, stood up and walked back to Baker Street with some form of hope in her.

Sherlock was playing the violin when Rose got back. John was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's John?"

Sherlock didn't stop playing.

"Something came up. He wouldn't tell me, just went."

Rose went to the kitchen and took out of the fridge the enzymes she had been working with. Sherlock noticed.

"What are those for?"

Rose stood deciding whether to tell him or not.

"It's a medicine I'm making for children. It's not quite perfect, but I know it works. It's taken me four years."

"What does it do." Sherlock was examining the liquid inside.

"It supposedly cures heart disease."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. He let her take it up to her room and waited for John.

Rose was sat at her microscope looking at some clothing fibres for one of Sherlock's cases. A woman had come distressed because she had lost her foster son, Dylan. She didn't have any pictures for insurance and Child Protection rules. She had been asked to find him, as he tended to run away and return about an hour later, but this time he hadn't come back. She found a hair on Dylan's school jumper, which had been found in a rubbish bin a mile from their house. It made sense, him dumping it, despite what the mother said. A boy in uniform is a lot more noticeable. She pulled the hair off and gave it to Sherlock to have it analysed at a police station. She then sat in her corner. John had returned after a false alarm for Mary's labour, which she had set up to try and earn his forgiveness. This had naturally only angered him more, and he was is a bad mood, so had gone out on a date. Sherlock was reading a book he had borrowed from the library.

"What are you thinking about?"

"That Dylan case. His hiding pattern is really familiar, but I can't pick it up."

Sherlock thought about that.

"Well, like I said, the case is yours. Once the DNA test comes back, we'll find out."

Rose sunk back into silence for a second time. Rose thought of a question.

"Sherlock, I have a question. And answer truthfully, I can tell when you lie."

Sherlock put the book down. He turned to Rose to listen.

"Okay, here it is. Are you gay?"

Sherlock's head snapped up, and his cheeks were an interesting shade of pink.

"What gave you that impression?"

Rose smiled, but Sherlock couldn't see her face behind the desk.

"It's the way you look at John. You don't have to answer, but your reaction does give it away a bit. Also, its me."

Sherlock didn't answer, his face bright red. She took the silence as confirmation. She smiled and walked upstairs to her room to practice her cello. Halfway up the stairs, her phone buzzed.

Please don't tell John

Please

-S.H

She felt bad all of a sudden.

I won't, I swear.

I'm sorry if I offended you.

We never had this conversation

-R

Thanks

It doesn't matter anyway

He's on a date

-S.H

Rose wasn't an expert on people, but even she could see the sadness in that one text. He loved John. She heard him pacing, and her heart ached. Sherlock was brilliant, but this was his only weakness, and he didn't understand it. And he couldn't do anything about it either. She picked up a piece of paper and pen, and wrote a letter. She then put it in the safe and locked it. Just then, her phone buzzed. It was a message from the lab. They had analysed the hair, and the owner wasn't actually called Dylan. His name hit her so hard it would have hurt less if a body-builder had punched her. She ran downstairs to Sherlock.

"I know where the missing boy is."

An hour later, she was stepping over a threshold that she was so familiar with, she could have told you how many tiles were on the roof. She opened the door, which was silent despite the years. She walked down the stairs to the basement. A figure was hunched over one of her last experiments, and he seemed to be vigorously cleaning it. His voice rang out in the empty house.

"You shouldn't be here, it's not your house."

Rose felt a huge surge of relief at the familiar voice.

"I wouldn't be to sure about that."

Aidan stopped cold. He turned slowly and stood up. He looked slightly different from when she had last saw him. His hair was longer, and he had grown. His eyes, still a slate black, were full of hurt and loss. He took in the figure stood in the doorway in front of him. His eyes lit up, and he ran over and scooped Rose up in a big bear hug. She hugged him back, breathing in the scents of home and dust and his shampoo. He stepped back.

"What are you doing here? I thought they took you?"

"They did, but I was sent to help find you."

Aidan looked relieved.

"I was fostered. But I hate them. They wouldn't let me go out or do any science, they even changed my name. And they tried to get me to go out with this girl. So I kept running away and carrying on our experiments." He paused. "Are you alone?"

Rose looked guilty.

"No. The person I was living with, he's here. It's Sherlock Holmes."

Aidan's eyes widened.

"He won't tell anyone, promise."

Aidan hugged Rose again. He then pulled her over to his experiments. Rose hung back for a minute.

"I've just got to tell Sherlock to go home."

She ran back upstairs, and Sherlock was in the living room looking at a large bloodstain on the carpet.

"It's okay, he's fine."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Yes, it's my mother's"

He looked up. He was obviously upset.

"Go home Sherlock. I'll be back later."

Sherlock trusted her. He walked out and shut the door quietly. Rose turned to the basement stairs. It was strangely silent downstairs. She walked down and was halfway before she heard a gunshot.

Chapter 3

She ran down just as Aidan dropped to the floor. The gun was on the floor, and the window the assailant had obviously escaped from was wide open. She ran over to Aidan, who had a shot to the ribs.

"I think it missed your lungs. Can you breath?". She found a towel and pressed it to his wound, then found her phone. A hand stopped her.

"Don't call an ambulance. I can't go back again."

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against the towel.

"I'm not."

John arrived ten minutes later and sprinted down to the basement, followed closely by Sherlock. He knelt down to Aidan and checked the gunshot. He then started to take things out of a medical kit he'd brought with him. Rose was sat in the corner, silent tears streaking down her face. Sherlock went over to her and sat down. Her usually thought filled eyes were empty.

"He'll live. But he won't go to hospital."

Rose said nothing. Her phone buzzed. She looked at the message.

Next door

-M

Rose got up, went over to Aidan and brushed his damp hair from his eyes. She then walked upstairs and out the house. She walked over and went into the house next door.

"Ah, Rosalind. How are you?" Moriarty still had a mark from where she had hit him with a gun. And she was tired of him.

"YOU SHOT AIDAN!"

Moriarty didn't react to her outburst.

"I needed to get your attention. He seemed the best way."

She was still crying.

"What do you want."

Moriarty smiled.

"The hard-drive"

Rose was still angry.

"All that for some stupid HARD-DRIVE! what's on that thing thats so damn important?"

Moriarty was suddenly serious.

"That hard drive has a code on it that would allow me to hack into the Government's missiles and start world war three."

He was slowly walking toward her.

"And if I don't get those codes, I will kill Sherlock. And then John. And then Mycroft. And then..."

He was stood directly next to her, and was whispering in her ear.

"You're precious Aiden."

Rose's face went pale. She reached in her pocket, and her hand closed around the glass shard in her pocket. She spoke.

"You see, Moriarty, that's where your wrong."

She turned and whispered in his ear.

"You're not going to touch any of them"

His face turned to amused curiosity.

"Please, explain."

"Well, despite what Sherlock thinks, he is not the true sociopath here. I could kill without feeling. I don't care about Aidan, or Sherlock, or John. Their all just pawns in my game. And so are you, Moriarty. But, unfortunately for you, a checkmate has been called."

She took out the glass and stabbed him in the stomach, causing internal bleeding. Blood dripped down her arms and covered her hands as Moriarty collapsed. He coughed up some blood, and grinned at her.

"I never thought you had it in you. Your truly my daughter."

He then died, his eyes still opened and staring. His words stuck in Rose's mind like a weed. She stumbled out of the house and back to her's, back to Aidan, who was sleeping on a sheet on the floor. She knelt beside him, despite the stares from Sherlock and John.

"It's okay Aidan. He won't bother you again. Never"

John noticed the blood on her hands.

"Rose? Who's blood is that? Where did you go?"

Rose looked up slightly. Her shoulders were hunched, and she had fresh tears streaking down her face. She was shaking.

Sherlock looked closely at her.

"Moriarty"

Rose burst into sobs as she realised what she had done. She had ended someone's life, and they would never get it back. She was a murderer. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed for an hour straight before they decided that it was time to leave.

"Come on Rose. We'll take Aidan to a hospital, where he'll be safe."

She struggled and stayed put next to Aidan, his head resting on her knee.

"We can't take him to hospital, he'll go back to that horrible foster family. I can't lose him again."

John thought about this for a while.

"We can bring him back to the flat. He can stay in your room."

Rose considered this, then she got up. She allowed Sherlock to pick Aidan up, and they got into a taxi and drove home.

He was lying on her bed and she was gripping his hand, her eyes closed. His eyes opened, and he took in the room around him. He was about to panic when he spotted Rose next to him, and he knew he was safe.

"Hey, Rosie." his voice was hoarse.

Rose's head snapped up, and a smile broke across her face. She stroked his fringe out of his eye.

"Hey Aidan. You had me worried for a minute there."

Aidan smiled and struggled to get up. Rose put her hand on his chest to stop him.

"You shouldn't move, it'll bleed. Although, when I was told that, I jumped out of a hospital window."

Aidan sat up anyway, and the wound didn't bleed. Rose raised her eyebrows . Am I going back to that foster family?" Aidan's face was miserable.

"No. We're both staying here. John signed the adoption papers three hours ago."

Aidan looked much happier. He stared at the wall next to the safe for a while. "So, will we ever go back to your house?"

Rose frowned.

"No. I'm having the lab taken out and it's being sold. Do you mind?"

Aidan hook his head, then grimaced in pain. Rose put her hand over the bandage around his ribs.

"Do you need morphine?"

"No, I don't want to sleep."

Rose took his hand again and pressed her lips to it, pain crossing her face briefly. Aidan stroked her cheek with his thumb, and her face softened.

"I did miss you." She still had her eyes closed.

"I did too. I went over to the house every day to see if you were back."

Guilt showed on her face. Aidan suddenly realised something.

"You got shot?"

Rose nodded, and pulled the sleeve of her t-shirt to reveal the scar. Aidan reached out a hand and brushed his forefinger over the pale skin of her shoulder. Rose shivered, and smiled. She sat down on the bed next to him and gently laid her head on his shoulder.

Sherlock and John were sat downstairs talking.

"Sherlock, she's thirteen, and she just killed someone. She's bound to be at least a little traumatised."

"But she isn't. She's probably just locked up the memory in her Library."

John frowned.

"She's still young." And now she's our problem, he thought.

John's phone rang. He answered it, go up and ran out of the house. Sherlock watched him go, knowing it was something about the baby.

Rose woke up with her head on Aidan's chest. He had laid back down sometime during the night, and had fallen asleep. She looked at his face. He had taken a bullet because of her. Sherlock nearly did. She felt guilt squeeze her stomach as she slowly sat up and walked over to the wardrobe to get a blanket. She covered Aidan's sleeping figure, checked his morphine drip and went downstairs to see if anyone was home. Sherlock was there, but John was out.

"Rose, are you okay?"

Sherlock had spoken from the corner of the room.

She grinned at him.

She had killed. Almost lost Aidan. Been shot at. Watched her mother die.

She was better than ever.


End file.
